


that'll be a first

by verity



Series: tween wolf [35]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Communication, Friendship, Gen, Sisters, Sleepovers, Werewolf Reveal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-20
Updated: 2013-05-20
Packaged: 2017-12-12 11:40:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/811193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/verity/pseuds/verity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the kitchen, Derek Hale is fiddling with coffee maker that looks like it was produced by Stark Industries, talking to Lydia in a soft voice. "Your sister showed me—it shouldn't be that hard."</p><p>Lydia rolls her eyes at his back and climbs down from her perch. "Let me," she says. "It takes a delicate touch."</p><p>Erica hovers by the doorway. "Can I help?" she says.</p>
            </blockquote>





	that'll be a first

**Author's Note:**

  * For [billtheradish](https://archiveofourown.org/users/billtheradish/gifts).



> Quick reminders: Laura and Derek's younger sister Kelly got introduced in season one of tween wolf but hasn't shown up in season two so far IIRC, and Erica's on a low-carbohydrate ketogenic diet for her seizures.

Erica wakes up slowly, light in her eyes. "Moooomm," she moans, rolling over—rolling _onto someone_.

"Go back to sleep, asshole," the person grunts while Erica scrambles frantically in the other direction. Yeah, now she's really awake, though she's not quite sure where she is.

It takes a minute for the events of last night to come back to her: Lydia's sister guiding her down to the carpeted floor where she seized, terrified and humiliated, while people screamed outside. Then resting here, on the couch, while everyone took care of her. She feels shaky and embarrassed all over again. Carefully, Erica extricates herself from the jumble of air mattresses and sleeping bags on the floor. She's been sharing one of the mattresses with Daphne, Stiles sacked out on her other side, his legs tangled with Scott's. The other air mattress and sleeping bag are vacant, covers rumpled and turned back.

The next room over is the dining room, and beyond that is the kitchen, where Lydia is sitting on a stool, eating one of those fruit-on-the-bottom yogurts. Her feet are bare; she's short enough that her toes just reach the bottom rung. "Bathroom's down the hall," she says, pointing with her spoon. "There's cereal if you're hungry."

"Oh," Erica says. She can't have cereal at all. "Thanks?"

She rinses out her mouth, then washes her face in the sink, dries it and her hands on one of the fancy embroidered guest towels which she can never manage to hang up again in quite the right way. Her hair's a mess, but at least she had it up last night. Erica twists it into a loose bun.

Back in the kitchen, Derek Hale is fiddling with a coffee maker that looks like it was produced by Stark Industries, talking to Lydia in a soft voice. "Your sister showed me—it shouldn't be that hard."

Lydia rolls her eyes at him and climbs down from her perch. "Let me," she says. "It takes a delicate touch."

Erica hovers by the doorway. "Can I help?" she says after a few seconds.

"Not with _this_ ," Lydia says, at the same time as Derek says, "Sure." They pause what they're doing to glance at each other, looking like a still from a sitcom. Lydia's tiny, round-eyed and pouty-lipped, the messy red waves of her hair pulled back from her face into a sloppy ponytail; Derek towers over her, all sculpted muscle and early morning stubble. The spell is broken when they exchange dour looks and redirect their attention to the machinery. 

Lydia presses a button with a neatly-manicured nail. "That's it. Leave it alone now."

"Sure," Derek says. He folds his arms. "Okay."

There are little wedges of spreadable cheese in the fridge, as well as sliced ham, so Erica puts some of those on a paper plate and takes it over to the counter. This would be easier if Stiles were awake. She doesn't know either of these strange, beautiful people, even if she's watched Lydia rule their classmates since middle school and signed for packages Derek delivered. And Derek's a— "You're a werewolf, right? I didn't imagine that?" Erica asks before she thinks better of it. Her cheeks burn.

"So, you didn't know, either." Lydia turns around, mouth going tight for a moment. "That they've—that everyone's been lying to us for years."

"Daphne—" Derek starts.

Lydia jabs a finger at his chest. "This isn't about my sister," she says. "Shut up." Then her face just—crumples.

Derek backs off, hands raised like he's got a gun trained on him, because apparently he can't deal with upset people. That doesn't seem to help Lydia, who starts _crying_ , something so incredibly bizarre that it takes Erica a moment to react.

"Hey," she says, sitting down her plate and crossing over toward Lydia. "Um, this is pretty weird, right? Like, I sort of knew there was something going on with Stiles, but I didn't think it was, you know, werewolves. I don't think anyone expects werewolves."

Lydia rubs her eyes. "Kelly was my best friend," she says. "She didn't die in an electrical fire. Did anyone explain that to you? She died because Allison's family are _werewolf hunters_ and they burned her alive. Sorry if I'm a _little_ upset."

Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Derek stiffen, his face go blank. Erica remembers Kelly Hale, of course she does; they were in the same Girl Scout troop, even though they didn't go to the same elementary school. Kelly was tall for their age, all skinny legs and elbows, ate more s'mores on one camping trip than Erica thought humanly possible. Which makes sense, now.

"Everyone always thinks everything's about Daphne," Lydia goes on. " _Oh, Daphne's crazy, we have to take care of her; oh, Daphne's going to Harvard, she's so smart; oh, Daphne runs with wolves, she's so badass and amazing_. Daphne can do whatever she wants, I don't give a shit. But it's not fair, it's so stupid, it's not _fair_." Her hands clench into fists, white-knuckled. "Nobody thinks that I'm important or that they need to tell _me_ anything, not Scott, not—"

"Jesus, Lydia," Daphne says. She came in while Erica wasn't looking; she has one hand on the counter by the coffeemaker, the other loose at her side. "It's not—it wasn't _like_ that, okay."

"Well, you tell me what it was like, then," Lydia says bitterly. "That'll be a first."

—

Erica grabs her plate and heads back to the living room; on impulse, she grabs Derek's sleeve and drags him along with her. Everything's topsy-turvy this morning, but she feels hopeful, like the world's full of possibility, that there's room in it for her to be a better and braver version of herself. "Come on," she says. "We don't belong here."

"Yeah," Derek says; Erica's not sure whether he's agreeing or just acknowledging that she's just spoken. Either way, he follows her back to the living room, where Stiles and Scott are still blissfully snoozing, curled up on each other like puppies. 

Stiles whines when Erica nudges him awake, toeing his shoulder. "Stop," he groans. "'s early. Why—what?" He blinks at Erica sleepily. "This is a really weird dream."

"You wish," she says. "Wake up, witchy-pants. Tell me what's going on."

"I want _that_ to be a dream," Stiles says. "Hey, Derek. Hey, Lydia's ceiling."

Erica crouches down next to him. There's a crease from the pillow pressed into his cheek; Scott is rubbing his nose against Stiles's spine, grouchy faced and adorable. Erica's crushed on Stiles for years, but she's never felt this fond of him, all warm and fuzzy inside from his familiarity and certainty in the middle of all of this. "Time to get up," she says, and she can feel the corners of her mouth tug up into a smile.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm [ladyofthelog](http://ladyofthelog.tumblr.com) on tumblr.


End file.
